


Scourge of Demons

by Caenea



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Headcanon, Mentions of Violence, Other, Symbolism, spoilers for season six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caenea/pseuds/Caenea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***WARNING: This work contains spoilers if you aren't all caught up with Season 6 of GoT***<br/>Arya Stark has come home to Winterfell, and Jon is waiting for her in the courtyard. But neither of them are the people they were and neither of them will be running into each other's arms to laugh for joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scourge of Demons

There was a time, a long time and blood enough to drown an army ago, when she would have run into Jon’s arms and he would have swung her round and set her on her feet and they both would have laughed.

But not now.

There was a time, long ago, when he would have teased her and tugged a lock of her hair and a time when she would have made a joke about sticking them with the pointy end; when he would have called out to his little sister in a voice ringing with love and she would have called out to him as just another brother.

But not now.

There was a time when a girl had no real place in expectations and a time when a boy was a bastard child from a lonely house that most did not recall. There was a time when a girl had a dancing master and a boy had a fighting master who did not care for him. There was a time when these things were the hardest things.

But not now. 

There was time when a girl lost her childhood, when she saw her father die, and when a boy was beginning to prove himself. There was a time before the boy had seen beyond the wall and when a girl was running for her life. There was a time when the boy did not know the feel of a woman beneath him and when a girl did not know what it was to be hungry.

But not now.

There was a time when a girl was running with a list and a man who did not like her, trying to reach a brother she saw as a safe haven, and when a boy did not understand what was really coming. There was a time when a girl had space in her heart for comrades in arms and when a boy did not know the depths of depravity a man could sink to.

But not now.

There was a time when neither of them had killed men. There was a time when neither of them knew what vengeance tasted of. There was a time when the girl would not have turned her back on a dying man and when a boy would not have exacted his revenge so coldly. There was a time when a girl had no name, and a boy had no title. 

But not now.

They have both been baptised in blood. They have both felt the sting of a blade. They have both scarred and faced the Gods of Death – they have said to him, “Not today” perhaps more times than they have had any right to. They have seen family die. They have seen, between them, their brother’s corpse defiled and their sister’s innocence lost to more men than anyone cares to think. They have seen their beloved brothers die. They have no reason to believe the remaining brother is alive.

Arya has seen the God of Death. He has come for her mother, father, brothers, friends and comrades. He has come for her, a thousand times, he has blinded her and humbled her to dust. She has fought to lose her name, but now she is a Stark again. A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell. She has come home.

Jon has seen the God of Death. He has come for his friends, his family, his comrades, his lover and his enemies. The God of Death has come for him and taken him – it is not by the grace of him that Jon walks again. He has been a Snow bastard, a Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, a traitor and a betrayer of sacred vows. Nothing is sacred to him now.

So they do not fall into each other’s arms and laugh. They do not shed easy tears of relief at finding that the other is alive, against all the odds. They do not embrace each other, and they do not ask how the other is, because the other will not answer positively. They have understood each other perfectly always. They have been close as siblings, close as lovers, close as man and wife, close as comrades who always, always have each other’s backs. So they do not require words to express their suffering, they cannot choose words that will dress up cold hard reality in pretty clothes, because what would be the point, when they would both know the words were lies?

He watches her walk towards him over the courtyard, he watches her eyes take in the blood they haven’t scrubbed away yet and he watches her check her stride only at the sight of the Stark banner waving once more on the walls of Winterfell. He sees her chin go up at that, he sees the light of battle glow in eyes too old for her young face. He sees her understanding that they have fought for their home and that she is proud of them. 

In turn she watches him stand still and wait for her. She watches him observe her movements and she watches his face remain neutral and tight and she sees the light of reunion in eyes too old for his young face. She understands that he has seen countless terrible things and her mind scrolls through, with clinical and icy detachment the countless terrible things she has seen and done. She is not the little girl who left this place. She wears Needle now; she does not hide her blades in trunks or coffers. She wears her sword and her breeches and her homespun shirt as though she were nothing more than a sword for hire, and not the daughter of a noble house. She has thrown aside the cloak of nobility that never fitted her and she has become her own woman. 

Jon has men who will swear loyalty to him; Jon has armies who would bow to him. Arya is a girl for nobody but herself. She is not for hire. Her loyalty is to her name, her house and her family. There is no room for anyone else.

So they do not rush into each other’s arms, the brother and sister so long parted. She walks calmly to him, and she grasps his forearm in her hand as he grasps hers in his. They lock eyes and that says the words they cannot speak now, for certainly words of love would choke them both like bile. He speaks only to welcome her home.

Her eyes are hard as steel. She does not thank him for winning it back for the Stark name. 

“This is your home, Jon Stark,” she says, emotionlessly giving him the family name. “This is your home, Jon Stark. Of course you took it back. Nothing else would have been acceptable.” And as she walks away from him, as she does not ask for the fate of her siblings, he knows for sure that she is home, and his lips frame her legend soundlessly.

Scourge of demons.


End file.
